


What To Expect (Or Not)

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Schmoop, cotton candy bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:52:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott brings up an interesting proposition. Which Stiles then gives improper consideration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What To Expect (Or Not)

**Author's Note:**

> For Cotton Candy bingo. The prompt was Pregnancy Test. This is how I interpreted it. I was scarily close to making it MPreg though. Thanks to brokentoy and triedunture. So this is for them.

“I think I’m pregnant, dude.” Stiles slid down the sofa, patting at the slight pooch his immense pizza consumption had made. He’d even managed to out-eat Scott. He was still the King of Pizza.

“That’s what you get for having unprotected sex with Derek, man.” Scott was staring at the ceiling, either contemplating a nap or throwing up. It was probably 50/50. Then his words sunk in.

“What?” The fact that word spanned several octaves hopefully conveyed hurt and shock and everything.

“What?” Scott groaned as he looked over at Stiles. He was too far into his food coma to really be able to lie.

“Me and… Derek.” Stiles’ voice was still in the upper reaches of his voice. Possibly the upper reaches of Lydia’s voice.

“Well, you’re not having sex with me. And Lydia would cut off your balls if you had sex with Jackson. Boyd and Isaac aren’t your type. So. Derek.” Scott sounded dreamy.

“You… You think about this?” Stiles was now thinking about this. He was thinking about having sex with Scott and Jackson and Isaac and Boyd and now his pizza was threatening to make a reappearance.

“You smell of him. Like a lot.” Scott’s hands waved in the air, vaguely circling. Sure, alcohol had no impact and neither did the odd puff of weed. But food turned him into a sleepy stoned puppy.

“Yeah. Well. He hangs around my room, breathing all over me, while I research whatever stupid shit is out to get you this week.” Stiles didn’t really mind that. He liked the quiet threatening - well, less threatening now he wasn’t getting pushed against walls, or his car, or trees – presence of Derek. “You know he can’t trust Peter.”

“Your bedroom. And your bed.” Scott punched the air.

“Noooo.” Stiles drew out the word. Trust Scott to finally get a clue and grasp the completely wrong end of the stick. “Guys don’t get pregnant either, you dumbass.”

“I just thought it was some werewolf thing.” Scott shrugged. “I always wrap it.”

“And thank you for that reminder that you’re getting laid and I am not.” Scott let out a satisfied chuckle which made Stiles bang his head against the back of the chair.

“Just make Derek wear a condom, dude.” Scott had that zen quality he used to get just before he fell asleep.

“Derek will not be wearing a- We’re not- It’s a pizza baby. A food pooch. You-“ Stiles fumbled around for something to throw.

“You’re starting to sound a lot like Finstock, right now.” And that was an uncomfortable realisation to have.

“I think I get why he sounds like this.” Stiles grumbled before managing to hit Scott in the face with a cushion.

 

Derek showed up two nights later, just as Stiles was returning from the bathroom. He was in pyjama pants but the weather had been warm so he’d foregone the shirt. He regretted it when Derek loomed at him out of the shadows behind the door. His nipples were hard, you know, from the cool of the bathroom. And they might as well be wearing little look at me signs. And Stiles couldn’t think of a way to casually reach past Derek and grab a shirt from his drawer and he had tidied up earlier for laundry and there weren’t even any hoodies lying around and Derek was really close and Scott’s pizza baby presumption conversation sprung into his mind.

“Hi-i.” Great. Another experiment with octaves.

“Stiles. I need you to look up…” Stiles kinda zoned out on what Derek was asking in favour of looking at his mouth and then thinking about Derek’s mouth and where Derek’s mouth could go on his body and he was only wearing pyjama pants and this was not fair. Stiles sat down abruptly and switched on his computer.

“I missed that. What do you want?” He knew he was being rude but he had school in the morning and he needed his sleep and Derek felt all kinds of nice pressed up against his back and leaning over his shoulder.

“Chimeras. Please.” The word was so out of place that Stiles turned his head and realised just how close Derek was to him. And Derek’s awesome mouth. And his intense eyes which were… pretty. When they weren’t glowing red. And he was staring.

And Derek was staring right back.

Stiles snapped his head around and started typing. “Not the medical kind. Who have two types of DNA or whatever.”

“Just… Give me what you’ve got.” Derek sounded off, odd. He moved away and Stiles expected him to fall into the chair by the window that he’d started thinking of as Derek’s chair. But, no. Derek threw his jacket on the chair and kicked off his shoes and sprawled on the bed. On Stiles’ bed.

Stiles worked for half an hour, the puzzle of chimeras giving him enough to keep his mind off Derek in his bed. And Derek’s mouth. And maybe his chest. And yeah, only so much of his brain was taken up with the whole research thing. He printed out a précis and tapped it on the desk before spinning around to face Derek. Who wasn’t asleep. He had one of Stiles’ books open on his chest but he wasn’t reading it. He was watching Stiles.

Stiles held out the paper. Derek seemed to realise that required movement and shifted forward suddenly, ending up sitting on the edge of the bed, knee to knee with Stiles. Whose nipples were hard again. And they weren’t the only thing.

“That should be it. Okay. Bye. Window’s that way.” Stiles pointed to the window hoping to distract Derek from the slight tent in his pyjama pants. He crossed his legs and leaned forward. Now he looked sick too. Derek stood up, placing his crotch right at Stiles’ eye level and woah, brain. Do not go there. Too late.

Then Derek’s hands were on him, hauling him out of the seat and pulling him close, the careful piles of research fluttering to the floor. Stiles got a chance to find out exactly what that mouth tasted like, up close, personal, and oh so very intimately.

Derek knew how to kiss. Not that Stiles had experience in this area but he could tell Derek knew how to kiss. There was tongue and pressure and hands wandering that made Stiles brave enough to push back, to slide his own hands under Derek’s shirt and then there was bare skin and lips and muscles and his cock was sliding against an answering hardness in Derek’s jeans.

That was too much. Stiles pulled back, panting. Derek’s mouth was redder now, lips plump and swollen. Stiles wanted to dive right back in. “You’ll wear a condom, right?”

Derek froze in the process of reaching out to reel Stiles in again. “Isn’t that getting a bit ahead of ourselves? Not that I’m saying no.” Derek swallowed. Once.

Stiles mentally fist-pumped. Derek really wanted him. Had thought of having sex with him and that meant Scott had been right and that was only a minor irritation on the vast scheme of shining joy that was filling Stiles. “I don’t want to get pregnant.”

“Why would you-?” Derek sat down on the bed. Which put him at eye level with Stiles’ crotch. Which was less bad than it might have been five minutes before. “Scott.”

Stiles had enough of waiting for Derek’s mouth to be back on him right now. So he pushed at Derek’s shoulder and rolled on top of him, ready to enjoy the kissing from another angle. Making out. There was groping so that was making out. “Hey, I trust you. Better than him. Just. We’re going to use a condom, right? When we get there. I'm not going to have to wait to see if there's a blue cross in the window or anything.”

Derek kissed Stiles but it was distracted. He pulled back. “When? Not if?”

That was quite enough of that. “But you’re going to buy me dinner first.”


End file.
